Page 20 of Casting Butterflies

Me! Florence Mabel Girard. Bilingual, thirty-seven, Ottawa resident, who liked playing video games, enjoyed fancy cocktails and the occasional joint, and who’d faced down a demon and walked away victorious. I wondered if I should add that to my dating profile because it did make me sound badass.

So what if Cedric and Misha lacked faith in my abilities? I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge or cry uncle. Especially once another swig of vodka spread a warm, confident glow through me.

My chin lifted defiantly as I stated very clearly, “I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes, so I hope you have a plan to get me on a plane to Russia.”

“I’ll find a way.”

An ominous promise, which he kept, to my chagrin.

8

It was as I packed that I noticed the new tattoo on my hand, not etched in black ink but rather silvery white.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled as I stared at my palm. The same one that had gripped the necklace. Not bad enough I’d been scarred mentally, my flesh bore a mark too. A fucking butterfly.

Figured my first tattoo would be of my biggest nightmare. I kind of wished now I’d gone ahead with the one of Hello Kitty that Charlie dared me to get. At the time, I’d been drunk, too drunk to apparently consent according to the artist who refused to ink me. I should have returned the next day once I sobered up, but there was a sale at Lululemon and given the choice between dropping a few hundred bucks on body art or some new leggings and a top… Fashion won.

Speaking of which, I shoved said outfit into a duffel, along with some heavy socks, a few sweaters, and my toiletries. From what I knew of Russia, it would be cold, meaning I’d need my parka, hat, and gloves too. At least the late-fall Ottawa weather meant I could get away with wearing my goose-down jacket and insulated hiking boots, saving myself luggage space, which I used to add a few sexy pieces of lingerie and a clingy dress that always got me free drinks in the club. Misha might not be a fan of me—or me of him—but there would likely be other Russian men on this trip, and I wanted to be prepared. Never knew when you’d meet the one.

I emerged from my bedroom to find Misha and Cedric with their heads bent close together, whispering. They ceased speaking the moment they detected my presence.

Talking shit about me? Most likely. Cedric tolerated me, but he’d made it clear he didn’t think me as smart as him. As for Misha, if he could rip the spirit from me, he would have likely already done it by now. I couldn’t wait to show them both I was more than a pretty face with a really nice ass—kept firm with a daily regime of squats and lunges.

“You guys plotting against me?” I asked suspicious that they’d already become chummy.

“More like discussing how we’re going to keep you safe. It won’t be easy,” Cedric stated with a shake of his head.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked with more enthusiasm than I felt.

“We will head to the airport.” Misha declared.

“I figured that. I assume you have a way to bypass the lack of passport.”

“I do.”

“Are we flying on a private jet?” I’d always wanted to see how the rich travelled.

“No.”

I snapped my fingers as a mental light bulb illuminated. “Holy shit, I guess it doesn’t matter if I have ID or not because you’ll probably whammy the security guys into thinking I do and letting me pass.”

“Whammy?” Misha repeated.

“You know, when you do the Jedi mind-trick thing and plant thoughts into people’s heads.”

His brow creased. “That is not something I can do, nor anyone else for that matter. Free will is too strong.”

Probably best to not mention Charlie’s new hubby had that ability. “Then how are you planning to get me past security?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Misha muttered. “Are you ready to leave?”

I glanced at Cedric. “Are we?”

“I am.”

Then despite Misha standing there, I added, “Is this the right thing to do?”

Cedric canted his furry head. “I don’t think we have a choice but to ally ourselves with Misha. With him around, you might not die as quickly.”